


I Bloom Just For You

by parkkate



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hp_drizzle, Falling In Love, Fluff, HP Drizzle Fest 2019, Hanahaki Disease, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Magical Accidents, Magical Disease, Pining, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-War, Romance, background romione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-05-18 23:10:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19344574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkkate/pseuds/parkkate
Summary: This isn’t how Harry’s eighth year at Hogwarts was supposed to go. It was supposed to be peaceful, drama-free… And yet, he finds himself in the middle of chaos once more when flowers suddenly start to spring up wherever he goes…





	I Bloom Just For You

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Someone has a curse/disease/latent magical ability which causes literal flowers to spring up around their feet.
> 
> There aren’t enough words to express my gratitude for my wonderful beta [phoenix4dragon](https://phoenix4dragon.tumblr.com/). Once again, your dedication and cleverness completely blew my mind. Thank you for being so amazing and for putting up with me! ❤️️ And a huge thank you to the mods for all their hard work! ❤️️

“It’s so unfair! I don’t even understand why McGonagall made us come back here if we aren’t even allowed to play Quidditch.”

Harry jumps off his broom and lets out a frustrated sigh. “I know. At least we get to use the pitch when no one’s practising.”

“It’s not the same,” Ron grumbles as he falls into step beside Harry. “Gryffindor would have won the Quidditch Cup for sure this year.”

“We aren’t even included in the competition for the House Cup.”

“Yeah, well, at least now Seamus can blow up as many cauldrons as he wants without—Harry? What’s wrong?” Ron follows his gaze, up to the castle where someone with white-blond hair is heading for the entrance.

“Oh.”

Harry can practically feel the awkwardness radiating off of Ron.

“Have you talked to him since his trial?”

“No.”

“Are you going to?”

“I don’t know,” Harry sighs. “He made it pretty clear he doesn’t give a rat’s arse about burying the hatchet. I think he blames me for his father’s imprisonment.”

“Wait, you told me he apologised.”

Harry bites his lip. “Well… he didn’t actually say it out loud. It was implied, though.”

“Right,” Ron snorts. “Well, if he doesn’t give a rat’s arse, neither do we. I don’t have a problem avoiding the pompous git.”

“Shocking,” Harry laughs, clapping Ron on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s see if Hermione already finished her homework for the entire year.”

They make their way back to the castle without a backwards glance, missing something very peculiar; a single daisy springing up in the grass, which is highly unusual for mid-November. Highly unusual indeed.  
  


* * *

  
Harry is grateful to spend Christmas and New Year’s Eve at the Burrow, even though it is filled with as many tears as it is with laughter. Fred’s absence is taking its toll on everybody and Harry can’t imagine how that void could ever be filled. So as much as he enjoys spending time with the Weasleys, he’s also somewhat relieved to board the Hogwarts Express and be swamped with homework again. Who would have thought he’d ever be grateful for homework? But it takes his mind off all those awful things.

At least until Malfoy enters the library and suddenly all of Harry’s thoughts revolve around him. Is he still angry at Harry? Is he planning something to get revenge? Shouldn’t Harry be the one still resenting him for becoming a Death Eater? Can’t they just both let go of the past and move on? Why is Malfoy always so stubborn?

“Um, Harry, are you feeling okay?”

Harry blinks at Hermione, wondering how he could have forgotten she and Ron are sitting across from him.

“Yeah, of course. I’m fine.”

“It’s just, um…” Hermione gives him a funny look. “I’ve never seen you draw flowers before.”

Harry frowns and looks down at his parchment. Sure enough, instead of continuing his Transfiguration essay, there are dozens of flowers he apparently doodled while thinking about Malfoy. What the hell?

“I’m just… I’m having trouble concentrating.”

Hermione nods sympathetically while Ron stares at Harry’s parchment with a raised eyebrow.

“Blimey, Harry!”

“What?”

“Are you doing that?” Ron points at the table leg which, to Harry’s surprise, is covered in all sorts of colourful flowers.

“What the—” Harry stops dead when he sees the floor around his feet. It looks like a fucking meadow down there.

“Oh, that’s… interesting,” Hermione murmurs. “Did somebody jinx you?”

“I think I would have noticed,” Harry says, dread bubbling up inside him. What is going on? What is happening to him? He grabs his wand and points it at the flowers. “Evanesco!” The flowers are still there.

Hermione purses her lips and draws her own wand. “Evanesco.” Nothing happens.

“What, you thought I did it incorrectly?” Harry grunts.

“Sorry,” Hermione says sheepishly.

“What the fuck is this?” It’s hard not to panic.

“What do you reckon it means?” Ron asks.

“No idea,” Harry says. “But somehow, I have a feeling it isn’t good.”

And boy is he right. At first, he thinks it might have been just a one time thing, but, to Harry’s dismay, the flowers do appear again. At the most inconvenient moments. He has no idea where they’re coming from, but after he turns the Gryffindor table into one giant bouquet, the whole school knows something strange is going on with Harry Potter. Yet again. Professor McGonagall even takes him aside and asks if everything is alright. Unfortunately, she’s just as nonplussed as Harry.

“They do seem to sprout rather randomly,” Hermione murmurs as they enter the Gryffindor common room. “So we should try to figure out what triggers you to… well, bloom.”

Harry groans and throws himself onto one of the sofas. “Why? Why is this happening? Why can’t I just enjoy one drama-free year?”

“Guess you’re kind of a magnet for drama, eh?”

“You’re not helping, Ron,” Hermione hisses.

“Here we go.”

“What?”

“You’re going to bring up the spoon thing again.”

Hermione almost looks apologetic, but she tries to cover it up by furrowing her brows. “I wasn’t,” she snaps. “Besides, I already apologised for that, didn’t I? That was ages ago.”

“And yet, just last week you—”

“Yeah, well, you were being an inconsiderate oaf.”

Ron huffs and crosses his arms. “Well, if I’m a teaspoon, you’re… you’re… a pastry fork! Ha!”

“A pastry fork?” Hermione echoes, her voice sounding uncharacteristically shrill.

“Yeah,” Ron says defiantly. “You poke and you poke and you _poke_ , not knowing when enough is enough.”

Oh boy, now he’s done it. Harry can tell from her flared nostrils that Hermione’s going to burst.

“Alright,” he says hastily, jumping off the sofa and stepping between them. “Why don’t we just all calm down and—”

“He’s the one who needs to calm down,” Hermione practically yells. “ _I_  am going to bed.”

Harry blinks and watches Hermione stomp off. “Did something happen between you two?”

Ron sighs and rubs his nose as though its mere existence irritates him. “We kinda got into a fight earlier.”

“You don’t say,” Harry murmurs.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Ron says. “It’s just—”

Harry frowns when he notices the sudden blush on Ron’s cheeks. “It’s just what?”

Ron lets out another sigh and plops down on the sofa. He doesn’t speak until Harry sits down beside him. “She’s been spending an awful lot of time with Michael Corner.”

“What?” Harry blurts, completely taken aback.

“Yeah. They compare notes, talk about class, laugh about stupid puns that aren’t even funny… I just—” He presses his hands against his thighs as though he’s trying to keep himself from saying something he’ll regret.

“You just… feel a bit left out?” Harry asks, hoping Ron doesn’t catch the undertone, which suggests Harry knows all too well how that feels.

Ron starts twisting his hands in wordless affirmation.

“You don’t really think there’s something going on between them, do you?”

Ron hesitates and bites his lip before he throws his hands in the air in frustration. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“Mate, Hermione is so into you, it’s not even funny.”

Ron peeks at him, apparently unable to suppress a grin. “You think so?”

“I know so. It’s so obvious. Besides, do you want to compare notes with her and talk about class?”

“Not really,” Ron murmurs, scrunching up his nose.

“Exactly. Of course she’s going to do that with someone else. You’d only complain,” Harry chuckles. “She’s allowed to have friends, you know.”

“I do know that,” Ron says, sounding a bit defensive.

“Also,” Harry pauses, biting the inside of his cheek, “I heard Michael went on a date with Ginny last weekend.”

“Really? I thought she dumped him because he was too boring.”

“Well, that was more than two years ago. People change.”

They really do, Harry’s mind echoes. He’s not the same person he was two years ago. He’s not the same person he was one year ago. Some things just put everything into perspective. Life is far too short to waste it on being petty and holding a grudge. If only more people understood that. How come this isn’t what Malfoy took away from the war? What kind of epiphanies did he have, if any? It’s not like Harry’s asking him to become best friends. Why is he so stubborn? It’s so fucking irritating.

“Does it bother you?”

“What?” Harry jumps, wondering if Ron suddenly developed the ability to read minds.

“That Ginny might be dating Michael Corner again.”

“Oh.” Harry lets out a quiet sigh of relief. “Um, can I be completely honest? Without you getting mad?”

“Not you too,” Ron groans.

“What?”

“It’s bad enough Hermione thinks I’m an inconsiderate oaf.”

“That’s not—I—Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” Harry slowly puts his hand on Ron’s shoulder. “And I’m sure Hermione doesn’t really think that. But I know how protective you get when it comes to Ginny and I—I—I do love her, but… it’s different now.”

Ron gives him a long glance before he pats the back of Harry’s hand. “I guess people really do change,” he shrugs. “I’m just glad it doesn’t change anything between us.”

“I would never let that happen. You’re my best friend.”

Ron smiles at him and Harry inwardly chuckles; the tips of his ears have gone bright red. They always do that when someone compliments him or if he feels embarrassed about something.

“So… you’re not in love with her anymore,” Ron says quietly.

Harry shifts beside him and drops his hand into his lap.

“I guess Hermione was wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she said that this flower thing might be tied to your emotions and that they represent love or something.” Ron squares his shoulders and sits up a little straighter. “I told her she was wrong,” he says triumphantly. “I mean, when you and Ginny didn’t get back together after… you know, I figured it was you who didn’t want to be with her anymore.”

“Ron, I’m sorry, I—”

“You don’t have to explain, Harry. It’s alright. But Hermione was so adamant. She’s convinced you still have feelings for Ginny.”

“Wow, you sure talk a lot about this behind my back,” Harry mutters.

“We’re just trying to help, mate.”

“I know, I know.” Harry leans back and stares at the ceiling. “Let’s just hope it isn’t permanent. Maybe it will just go away.”

He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. When have things ever been easy for him? On the contrary, the next day, he has to endure the humiliation of Slughorn’s booming laughter when a bunch of purple flowers suddenly burst out of his cauldron and ruin his potion.

“Merlin’s beard, that’s a first,” Slughorn chortles. “Must be something in the air,” he adds with a knowing grin.

Harry says nothing, deciding not to correct Slughorn on his rash assumption. Why does everybody seem to think this has something to do with Harry’s feelings? It doesn’t. He still doesn’t know what triggers it, but it seems to be happening spontaneously and at random. He doesn’t even realise he’s doing anything until it’s too late to cover it up.

A murmur goes through the classroom and Harry notices several of his classmates are huddled together with their hands raised to their mouths. They can talk all they want. He’s more than used to it. It was probably foolish of him to think this year would be any different.

“Are you okay?” Ron whispers in his ear.

Harry gives him a brief nod before his eyes inadvertently wander over to Malfoy. He’s looking at Harry’s cauldron with what can only be described as indifference before he turns back to his own potion. That git. So he’s not even going to make fun of Harry anymore? Well, one less thing to worry about, then. Only, it does worry him. He can’t really explain it, but it makes him feel uneasy. He’s used to being taunted and laughed at, but no reaction whatsoever? What is he supposed to do with that?

Even though every fibre of his body tells him to, he suppresses the urge to run after Malfoy and corner him after Slughorn dismisses the class. What would he even say to him? It’s not like Malfoy did anything wrong. Per se.

“Err, mate?”

“What?” Harry snaps, turning around to scowl at Ron, knowing full well he’s letting out his frustration on his best friend, who really doesn’t deserve it.

“You’re doing it again.”

Harry wants to yell that he isn’t doing it again; he isn’t obsessing over every little detail and overinterpreting Malfoy’s every move. Before he can open his mouth, however, his gaze drops to the ground and, to his horror, he sees that he’s surrounded by very pink and very unmissable flowers.

“Ugh!” Harry stomps his foot, feeling less gratification than he hoped by having destroyed at least a few of these ominous fuckers.

“Harry, my boy.”

Oh no.

“Is this your way of celebrating your victory over the Dark Lord?”

Harry turns while trying to keep his face neutral. “Not exactly, Professor.”

Slughorn chuckles — _chuckles_ — and claps Harry on the shoulder. “It happens to the best of us.”

“I beg your pardon?”

There’s that irritating knowing grin again.

“Professor, do you know what’s wrong with me?” Harry asks.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, my boy.”

“But you know what’s causing this, don’t you?” Harry watches him closely as he thoughtfully twirls his moustache.

“It’s nothing to be worried about.”

“I don’t know about that,” Harry mutters, looking down.

“Well, technically, it is a disease.”

“A disease?” Harry echoes and almost drops his bag.

“But look at it this way,” Slughorn chortles, ignoring Harry’s reaction, “you’re just adding a little more beauty to the castle. I’m telling you, it’s nothing to worry about. Unless you’re coughing them up.”

Harry’s eyes widen and he immediately feels his throat closing up. “What?”

“You haven’t, have you?”

“N—No.”

“Good. If you do, come find me immediately. But I doubt it’ll come to that.” Slughorn laughs and the booming sound echoes off the wall. “It’s you we’re talking about here after all.”

Feeling even less reassured, Harry staggers out of the classroom, his mind spinning.

“Wow, it’s like I don’t even exist,” Ron murmurs beside him. “I bet he still doesn’t know my name.”

“Believe me, when it comes to Slughorn, it’s best not to be on his radar,” Harry grumbles.

“I guess,” Ron says, even though he doesn’t sound convinced. “Want to go flying? I’m not really in the mood for homework.”

“Are you ever?” Harry sniggers. “Maybe next time. My head is throbbing. I think I’ll take a quick nap.”

“Alright, I’ll ask Dean.” Ron pauses. “You weren’t lying to Slughorn, were you?”

“What?”

“You’re not coughing them up, are you?”

“No.” Harry shakes his head. “I’m not,” he adds when Ron’s worried expression doesn’t change. “I think you would have noticed.”

“Alright. Because Slughorn sounded serious.”

“Yeah. He did, didn’t he?” A sudden queasiness crashes down on Harry; why didn’t Slughorn just tell him what’s going on?

“Alright, see you later, mate.”

“Yeah, have fun,” Harry murmurs and starts heading towards Gryffindor Tower. How the fuck would it even be possible to cough up those stupid flowers? He’d probably choke to death. Oh. Yeah, maybe that’s why Slughorn warned him. This is just perfect. Not only is this whole flower business highly embarrassing, now he’s in mortal danger. Again. Of course. Seriously, why him? Why does it always have to be—

Harry blinks, taking in his surroundings for the first time in several minutes. This corridor doesn’t lead to Gryffindor Tower. Ugh. He walked in the complete opposite direction. Damn it.

He turns on his heels but freezes when he sees another person approaching him. A person who doesn’t even deign to look at him because his nose is buried in a book. Honestly, how much smarter does Malfoy think he can get?

Slowly, Harry starts walking again, wondering what will happen next. What will Malfoy do? Try to trip him? Break his nose again? Hex him? Yell at him? Curse him?

“Potter,” Malfoy nods, barely taking his eyes off his book as he passes him.

Harry stops dead, staring at the back of Malfoy’s head.

“What the fuck, Malfoy?” he practically yells, balling his hands into fists. In hindsight, it might not have been the smoothest line. But seriously, what is Malfoy playing at?

At least Harry can take momentary gratification in the fact that he apparently took Malfoy by surprise if his quizzical expression is anything to go by.

“What heinous crime did I commit now?” he asks, sounding bored.

“What?”

“Obviously, you’re accusing me of _something_.”

Harry grits his teeth, trying to choose his words carefully. “Why do you insist on ignoring me?”

Malfoy raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t realise I was ignoring you.”

“What?”

“I wasn’t doing it on purpose,” Malfoy shrugs as though he’s the most carefree person in the world. It makes Harry’s blood boil.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says.

Malfoy snorts.

“Don’t deny it!”

“We’re not friends, Potter, so I really don’t understand why you’re getting your knickers in a twist.”

“I’m not,” Harry grumbles. “I just think you’re being childish.”

“Right, I’m the one being childish,” Malfoy says with a derisive smirk, but Harry can tell it’s just an act. “Are you trying to provoke me? So I’ll get kicked out and join my father?”

“What? That’s not—”

“Save it, Potter. You of all people should be grateful that I’ve been shunned and forced to keep to myself.”

“I’m not grateful for that,” Harry retorts.

“Then stop rubbing it in.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Harry insists. “I just thought things could be different now.”

“Why would they be any different? I still have this.” Malfoy stretches out his left arm.

“But you don’t believe in what it stands for, do you? I think you haven’t for a while.”

Malfoy stays silent and avoids Harry’s gaze.

“That’s what I thought. Malfoy, if you’re still feeling guilty—”

“Merlin, Potter, spare me the amateur psychoanalysis. You sound like my Mind Healer.”

“Oh.” Harry blinks. “You’re seeing a Mind Healer?”

Malfoy furrows his brows and scowls at the floor, obviously regretting his unintended revelation.

“That’s, um, that’s good. Is it helping?”

“You can’t possibly think I’d talk to you about that.”

“Well…”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone, Potter? Why do you insist—”

“Because _I_ feel guilty, okay?” Harry blurts. “I—I think I could have helped you,” he adds quietly. “The moment I realised you were being extorted I should have—”

“Merlin, Potter.” Malfoy sighs and closes his book. “I’m not trying to start a fight, so I’m going to say this as nicely as possible. You and your enormous ego need to accept that you aren’t the answer to every bloody problem on this planet.”

Harry makes a dismissive gesture and shakes his head. “You’re being evasive.”

“Merlin, you really are dense. Not everything is about you. You couldn’t have helped me. Besides, I wouldn’t have accepted your help, even if it had killed the Dark Lord on the spot.”

“I think that’s a load of troll dung,” Harry says and crosses his arms.

“What do you want from me, Potter?”

Harry tries to swallow his anger and keep his voice even. “Why can’t we just be… normal with each other? The war is over. He’s gone.” Harry pauses, trying to decipher the crease between Malfoy’s brows. “Clean slate?” Harry asks, stretching out his hand and waiting for Malfoy to shake it. He doesn’t. He just stares at it and clutches his book a little tighter.

“Not interested, Potter,” he spits.

For a second, Harry thinks he’s going to stomp off. Instead, he just stands there while his expression slowly changes, from stony to… something else. Something weird.

“Potter,” he says, and Harry frowns at his strange tone. “You—”

“What?”

“You—You’re blooming.”

Harry briefly closes his eyes, trying to calm his raging pulse before he musters up the courage to look down. Sure enough, there’s a circle of bright yellow flowers around him. Huh. So they’re different every time?

“Daffodils,” he hears Malfoy mutter. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Harry jumps. “What?”

“Is this a joke, Potter?”

“I don’t—”

Before he can say anything else, Malfoy turns around and hurries off.

“What’s wrong with daffodils?” Harry murmurs to himself. Malfoy acted as though Harry personally insulted him. He’s the one who insulted Harry. But it was different. There was no teasing, no gleeful undertone. It was bitter and relentless. Well, Malfoy lost pretty much everything he used to be so proud of; his father, his reputation, his precious status in the Wizarding community. He still has his mother, but god knows what she’s planning to do to get all those things back. Harry wouldn’t be surprised if she was more focussed on that than her son.

For the umpteenth time, Harry wonders why he’s even trying. Clearly, Malfoy is a lost cause. But there’s just something that bothers Harry about this whole situation. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but he just knows he won’t be able to let it go.  
  


* * *

   
“I swear to Merlin, if she brings another pile, I’m going to scream. I don’t care if Pince kicks me out.”

Harry stretches his neck, silently agreeing with Ron. They’ve been at this for hours.

“Hey, where are you going?” he asks when Ron gets out of his seat. “Don’t leave me alone with all these books.”

“I’m just going to the loo,” Ron yawns. “But don’t blame me if I’m gone for a while. I really need a break.”

Harry lowers his head to the table, frustration crashing down on him. Of fucking course he’s sitting in the fucking library, trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with him. It’s the fucking story of his life. But since nobody seems to know what’s wrong with him, or, in Slughorn’s case, reluctant to tell him, this is all he can do. Even Neville and Professor Sprout don’t have any ideas.

“Potter.”

His pulse instantly quickens, but he stays still, keeping a stiff upper lip. He’s almost tempted to ask if Malfoy waited on purpose until his friends were gone, but ultimately decides against it; even in his head it sounds ridiculous. And presumptuous. Then again, this is Malfoy.

“Oh, so now you’re talking to me?”

“Would you rather I didn’t?”

Harry mentally curses and slowly straightens himself. Malfoy is the picture of arrogance, looking down at Harry as though he’s a pesky bug.

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

He doesn’t seem bothered by Harry’s irritated tone. “So you being a walking botanic garden is a recent development?”

Harry huffs and pretends to concentrate on his book again. “Piss off, Malfoy. I don’t need your taunt.”

“You didn’t want me to ignore you, now you’re saying I should piss off. Which is it, Potter?”

Harry closes his eyes and tries to calm himself. “Look, if you just came over here to—” He breaks off, his chest tightening when he sees several daisies sprouting out of the book in front of him.

“Interesting,” Malfoy says, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m not a science project,” Harry snaps.

“A what?”

“Forget it,” Harry grumbles and slams the book shut. This is humiliating on so many levels.

“Potter.”

Harry peeks at Malfoy while trying to look indifferent.

“When exactly did this start?”

“Um, last week. I think. I’m not sure.”

Malfoy gives him a curious look. “Do you know what it means?”

Harry blinks. “Do you?”

Malfoy seems torn but slowly shakes his head. Somehow, Harry has a feeling he’s lying.

“So,” Malfoy crosses his arms, “I was surprised to hear you didn’t get back together with the She-Weasel.”

“She has a name,” Harry snaps, wondering why Malfoy sounds so icy.

“I’m only saying this in the hopes you’ll finally get off my back, but getting back together with her might solve your little problem.”

“So you do know what’s happening to me,” Harry says.

“Call it a hunch,” Malfoy says, raising his chin. “I couldn’t care less. What I do care about is for you to stop focussing all your energy from being lovelorn on people who want nothing to do with you.”

Harry opens his mouth only to promptly close it again. What?

“Go to the She-Weasel, make up with her and leave me the fuck alone,” Malfoy growls.

“Why does everybody think this is about Ginny?” Harry bursts out. “It isn’t. I’m not in love with her anymore!”

“Ugh, please, I don’t want to hear your pathetic denial,” Malfoy says, scrunching up his nose. “Just remember that I tried to help you. Only,” he adds when Harry is about to say something, “because I want to spend this year in peace.”

Harry watches him stride away with his head held high. Who does he think he is? He’s trying to help Harry? Yeah, right.  
  
“He’s not a good person,” Harry grumbles.

“Who?”

Harry looks up to find Hermione putting a dozen new books on the table.

“Malfoy,” he says quietly.

“Nobody said he was.”

Harry tilts back his head, trying to sort his thoughts. He knows this isn’t about Ginny. But the longer he thinks about it, the more he realises he can’t really blame people for thinking that. It’s not that far of a stretch. But even Malfoy? He doesn’t even know Harry. How cocky of him to just make assumptions.

“Hey, where did Ron go?” Hermione asks in a disapproving tone.

“He’ll be right back,” Harry sighs. He takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes, wishing this day was already over.

“Did Malfoy talk to you or something?”

“What?”

“Did he talk to you?”

“Oh, yeah. He just left.” Harry shifts in his seat at Hermione’s scrutinising gaze. He knows that look. “What? What are you thinking?”

“Nothing.” Hermione purses his lips.

“Right,” Harry snorts.

“Well, it’s too early to tell. Let’s just see if we can find anything in here.” She hands Harry another book. The moment his fingers make contact with it, it’s studded with daisies.

“Fucking hell,” Harry bellows.

“Try to calm down,” Hermione says, stroking his hand. “I think it gets worse the more upset you are.”

Harry sinks down in his chair, feeling defeated. He doesn’t have the nerve to deal with this. He shouldn’t have to deal with this. He just wants some peace and quiet.

_“Just remember that I tried to help you. Only because I want to spend this year in peace.”_

Malfoy’s words echo in his mind like a taunt. He’s acting like Harry is the one who made extremely poor choices and nearly got everyone killed. Well… But that was different. Harry didn’t have a choice. And yes, Malfoy may have been constrained as well, but not in the same way. Then again, his family was on the line… You can’t really compare their situations, Harry supposes. And Malfoy did come around in the end. Sort of. It’s just his pride that’s keeping him from admitting that.

Or maybe he’s just a ginormous arsehole.

Whatever he is, it’s hard to stop thinking about him. Harry just can’t seem to figure out why he’s acting the way he does. A childish, petty part of him wonders if this is Malfoy’s idea of payback for first year; Harry refused to be his friend, so now he’s refusing to be Harry’s. Is that it? He can even imagine what Malfoy would say to him.

_"I have enough friends, Potter. I don’t need your pity.”_

Is it pity? Harry’s not sure. But he knows for a fact that Malfoy doesn’t have enough friends. Parkinson seems to be the only one who still hangs around him. Most of the time, though, Malfoy seems to be on his own. Harry checks the Marauder’s Map regularly, chastising himself each time, wondering why he cares so much, but feeling a strange kind of sadness while he stares at the dot labelled ‘Draco Malfoy’, sitting alone at the edge of the Great Lake. Maybe it is pity. Harry can’t help but feel sorry for him. The war changed his views on many things. A year ago, he didn’t understand Malfoy’s actions and his motivations at all. Now, he can’t help but think that Malfoy really got the short end of the stick in every possible way. What would Harry have done if the roles had been reversed? What would he do to bring back all the people he lost if it were possible?

Malfoy did unthinkable things, yes, and they were his decisions, but Harry can’t deny the influence his father, and ultimately Voldemort, had over him. If Malfoy hadn’t been brought up the way he was, would he have done things differently? Is he choosing to do things differently now? It’s this very question that keeps Harry up night after night. He doesn’t want to live in a world in which everything is black and white; a world in which people like Malfoy don’t or can’t admit their wrongdoings and their flaws.

He doesn’t know why, but he just has this gut feeling that Malfoy is trying, but nobody acknowledges it. Or maybe there isn’t anybody who can acknowledge it, because he doesn’t let anyone see it.

It’s maddening how his thoughts seem to go around in circles, coming to no definite conclusion. All he knows is that there are more important things in life than holding a grudge. If Malfoy truly changed, if he knows what he did was wrong and why it was wrong, Harry is determined to move on and forgive him. Maybe, deep down, he already has. People deserve second chances, don’t they? At least some of them do. If Malfoy, however, is still the conceited git he used to be, Harry will have to let this go and accept the fact that some people aren’t meant to be forgiven.

So which will it be?

Heart pounding, Harry decides to finally put his futile theories to rest and find out the truth. It’s Sunday and everyone in his dorm is still asleep. He quickly checks the Map before he slips into his cloak and hurries down to the lake. Why Malfoy chooses to freeze to death in the unforgiving February cold is beyond him. His face already feels numb after only a few minutes. The rest of his body quickly follows when he finally spots the unmistakable pale figure he spent so many hours thinking about.

“Can’t sleep?” Harry says quietly, avoiding Malfoy’s gaze as he sits down beside him in the grass. He blinks when he realises he doesn’t feel cold anymore; Malfoy must be using a heating charm. It would also explain the absence of snow around him.

“Potter.” It’s half a sigh and half a groan.

“I’m not here to torment you,” Harry says. “We don’t have to talk.”

“So you’re just here to enjoy my company?” Malfoy snorts.

“Maybe,” Harry mumbles, more to himself. It seems to startle Malfoy, who tenses and obviously tries to keep his face even.

They sit in silence for a while, gazing into the sunrise and listening to the soft chirps of the birds.

“You didn’t take my advice,” Malfoy says, hugging his knees. “You aren’t back together with the She-Weasel,” he adds when Harry just looks at him.

“Oh. Yeah.” Harry looks down at his fingers, remembering the last time they were entwined with Ginny’s. “I told you it wasn’t about her. It’s not like that anymore between us.”

Malfoy seems surprised, but his stoic mask quickly slips into place again.

“Besides, she’s going out with Michael Corner. Again.” He doesn’t know why he added the last part. It’s not like he feels resentful. If Ginny’s happy, he’s happy. It’s a shame they can’t be happy together, with each other, but some things just aren’t meant to be, Harry supposes.

“Huh. I could have sworn…” Malfoy leaves his sentence unfinished and rests his chin on his knees. Maybe it’s the early morning hour, but he forgets to sneer.

“Aren’t you going to, um—” Harry bites the inside of his cheek, needing the slight pain to remind himself to choose his words carefully.

“What?”

“Um, nothing. I just thought you might have some clever comeback.”

Malfoy says nothing for a moment and seems to be hugging his knees a little tighter. “Clever,” he murmurs quietly. “I’m probably going to regret saying this, but I’m so tired of fighting.”

Harry peeks at him, intrigued by his deflated tone. He seems to really mean it. “Then let’s not do that anymore,” he says. He keeps himself from pointing out that that’s exactly what he proposed months ago and Malfoy, not very politely, declined.

“But isn’t that what everybody expects of me?” Malfoy pauses. “What you expect of me?”

“Even if that were true, do you really want to live your life according to other people’s expectations?”

Malfoy flinches ever so slightly; it makes Harry wonder if he struck a nerve. Probably. To a certain extent, that’s what Malfoy has been doing, isn’t it? He was raised by Lucius Malfoy after all.

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Nothing in life is easy,” Harry says, trying not to let his bitterness get the better of him. “But haven’t we been through enough? Our circumstances made us enemies. Now, we can choose whatever we want to be.” He hesitates. “Right?”

Malfoy looks at him, his face unreadable. It makes Harry uncomfortable, but he tries his best to endure it. Instead of answering, however, Malfoy slowly gets up, and Harry gazes after him as he makes his way back to the castle. He wonders if Malfoy’s silence was a wordless agreement or yet another declination. He needs some time, Harry supposes. Everything is changing, and everyone needs their own pace to adapt to it.

It still feels like he made progress today. They had their first civil conversation.

He scrambles off the ground and steps into the footprints Malfoy left in the snow; he’s so lost in thought, he doesn’t notice the crocuses that are starting to bloom wherever his feet touched the ground.  
  


* * *

   
Even though Harry is determined to give Malfoy some space, he didn’t anticipate that Malfoy would need _that_ much time. Six weeks later and he’s still ignoring Harry, if you can even call it that. He seems to be so indifferent about everything, it makes Harry want to slap him.

To make matters worse, the flower incidents seem to be increasing. The Gryffindor table being covered in colourful petals is a daily occurrence now, as well as Harry’s potions being ruined. McGonagall even raises a sceptical eyebrow when everything he tries to transfigure ends up as a different bouquet.

“I think it’s quite lovely,” Luna tells him as they descend the stairs to the Great Hall. “Now you’re not only cheering people up with your presence,” she smiles. “You can’t help but feel good when you see the flowers.”

“I don’t think that’s how Harry feels about them,” Ron murmurs.

Harry silently agrees and leaves it at that. He just spotted Malfoy strutting across the Entrance Hall with Parkinson. Just the mere sight of him makes his blood boil.

“Yes, but—Oh! Harry!” Luna claps in excitement. “They’re so beautiful!”

Harry doesn’t even have to ask what she’s talking about. He looks down, his stomach twisting at the sight of the Grand Staircase basically being transformed into one gigantic lavender field.

“Fuck,” Harry hisses, trying to avoid Malfoy’s gaze and failing. His expression seems completely neutral. He looks at Harry for just a second before he and Parkinson vanish into the Great Hall.

“Is it just me, or is this getting out of control?” Ron mutters.

Harry stays silent, dread and embarrassment crashing down on him yet again. He endures the chatter of the others stoically all throughout dinner, but excuses himself as soon as his plate is empty. All he wants to do is to crawl into bed and never leave it again.

“Hey, Harry.”

“Hey, Dean,” he says weakly. “Look, I’m sorry, but I’m really not in the mood to talk right now, I just—”

“Yeah, I understand,” Dean says. “It’s just… I think I might have something that could help you.”

Harry looks at him, curiosity sparked.

“I just remembered this bedtime story my mum read to me a few times when I was little. The book was my dad’s and it was too painful for her to read it, that’s why I only heard it a couple of times, but I remember there was something in there about flowers and how they appeared spontaneously. Anyway, I asked my mum to send it to me.”

Trying not to look too disappointed, Harry nods and gives Dean a smile. “Thanks, I appreciate it.” He doubts a children’s book is going to be any help, but, at this point, he’s desperate enough to clutch at every straw. It’s obvious by now that this isn’t going to go away on its own. If only he knew what’s causing the flowers to spring up and how to stop it.

As always, only a few days later, when Hermione walks up to him in the common room, he kind of wishes he could take that thought back.

“Harry.”

He turns around, fear bubbling up inside him at her serious expression. “What is it? Did you find something?”

“More or less.”

“Could you be any more vague?” Harry clamps his mouth shut when Hermione narrows her eyes.

“I think I found the trigger.”

“You did? How?”

“Well,” she hesitates, “after careful observation, I have to say it’s rather obvious.”

“It is?” Harry asks, wondering why he himself doesn’t know if it’s that obvious.

“I really hate to say this, Harry,” she sighs.

“God, spit it out already! Don’t just—”

“It’s Malfoy.”

Harry stares at her, his mind going completely blank. He waits for Hermione to explain her reasoning, but all she does is sit down next to him.

“I—What the hell are you talking about?” Harry finally bellows.

“Think about it,” she says. “Every time those flowers appeared, he was nearby.”

Harry narrows his eyes at her, his mind kicking into overdrive, determined to prove her wrong. But the longer he thinks about it… The realisation that she may be right hits him hard, leaving him a little breathless.

“No,” he whispers. “But why?”

“That’s the next thing we’ll have to figure out,” Hermione says. “You don’t—” She hesitates yet again. It’s so unlike her, which only adds to Harry’s irritation. “You don’t think he did this to you. Do you?”

“What do you mean? As in he put a curse on me? No, I don’t think he did.”

“Okay.” She doesn’t sound too convinced, but apparently decided to let it go.

Harry pays extra attention to Malfoy’s presence over the next few days, hoping Hermione might have been wrong after all. Unfortunately, as always, it turns out her theory was dead-on. But what the hell does it mean? Is this some kind of weird manifestation of Harry’s wish to move on and maybe even become friends with Malfoy? If it is, this is even more embarrassing than he thought. But… does this mean the blooming will stop once they do become friends? Ugh, this is maddening.

Unsure of what else to do, Harry stalks into the library after taking a peek at the Marauder’s Map, feeling instant relief that Malfoy is alone and chose a very secluded corner to do his homework.

Harry pauses, weighing his options, and decides to sit down beside him, rather than opposite him. He feels Malfoy’s eyes on him, but wordlessly takes out his Charms assignment along with his quill and ink bottle. He knows Malfoy is still looking at him, which he tries to ignore as best he can. To his utter surprise, Malfoy doesn’t get up and leave, there isn’t even a snarky comment; he simply gets back to his homework as though this is completely normal. Well, no, that’s not entirely true. Harry can feel the tension radiating off him, making him grip his quill a little harder in turn.

He can barely concentrate on his essay, being hyper aware of the way Malfoy breathes in and out, in and out, and how his right leg twitches every now and then. The urge to put his hand on Malfoy’s leg and tell him to calm the fuck down is so strong, Harry almost gives in. It takes everything in him to keep his eyes on his parchment, to defy this very strange invisible force that pulls him towards the boy sitting next to him.

He has no idea how much time has passed when Malfoy slowly gets up, gathers his things and walks off without a backwards glance. It doesn’t feel like he’s running away, though. Maybe he simply finished his homework.

Harry tries to make sense of the dull aching in his chest, but he can’t help but feel relieved at Malfoy’s departure when he looks down at his feet and sees the floor around them is peppered with pale blue flowers. The now familiar feeling of dread washes over him as he vows to do everything in his power to put an end to this madness.

Malfoy seems a little less surprised when Harry shows up in the library the next day. And after a week of studying next to each other in silence, Harry even gets the impression Malfoy is less tense and guarded. As a matter of fact, Harry catches him glimpsing at his parchment several times, quietly huffing at whatever seems to be displeasing him, until he suddenly reaches over with an exasperated grunt.

“Merlin, did you even listen to a word McGonagall was saying?” he mutters as he crosses out three paragraphs and adds something in irritatingly neat cursive.

“Great, now I have to start all over again,” Harry says, examining his ruined homework.

“Would you rather hand in something that’s full of mistakes?” Malfoy retorts. “You’re welcome by the way.”

“You almost sound like Hermione,” Harry snorts and grabs a new piece of parchment.

“How come I never see her here?” Malfoy asks, and Harry is a little shocked to find that he’s actually making eye contact.

“I—What do you mean?”

“Usually, you never go anywhere without her and Weasley,” Malfoy drawls.

“Oh. Well—” Harry pauses, not sure if he’s ready to say out loud, let alone to Malfoy, what he’s been trying to shove away for months now. Things have changed since Ron and Hermione started dating. There’s been less and less room for Harry, and even though he knows neither of them is doing it intentionally, he still kind of feels left out. He’d never say anything, though. Especially Hermione would be appalled to hear this, and her best efforts to include Harry would probably end up in unbearable awkwardness. He’s sure he’ll get used to it; friendships change, but right now, it does feel a bit lonely.

“Did you guys fight?” Malfoy asks, the hesitation in his voice almost tangible.

“No, that’s not it,” Harry says. “It’s, um—The, err, dynamics of our friendship changed a little, that’s all.”

“I see.” Something flickers across Malfoy’s face, but Harry has no idea what it means. “So am I supposed to be your rebound friend?”

“What?”

“Is that why you’re trying cosying up to me?”

“That’s not—”

“Save it, Potter.”

Harry watches helplessly as Malfoy stuffs his books into his bag.

“Malfoy, wait.” Without thinking, Harry reaches out and grabs him by the wrist. Malfoy stills instantly and Harry isn’t sure if he only imagines the feeling of Malfoy’s pulse drumming against his fingers. He doesn’t have time to fully process it, because suddenly, there’s something else grazing his fingertips. “Oh no,” he breathes, his eyes widening in horror.

“Potter, what—what are you doing?” Malfoy is staring at his own wrist, at Harry’s fingers, and at the fucking flowers that are creeping around his wrist. It almost looks like a bracelet.

“I—I don’t—” He breaks off when Malfoy yanks at the bracelet, but instead of tearing, like normal flowers would, the bracelet doesn’t budge.

“Fuck! Are you telling me I have to walk around wearing this?” Malfoy snaps. “Why the hell did you do that?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Harry says, furrowing his brows. It’s the truth. If he had known this would happen, he wouldn’t have—Oh no.

“What?” Malfoy asks, apparently having caught the apprehension on Harry’s face.

“There’s, um—” He raises his index finger, unable to verbalise the horror that’s coursing through him.

“What?” Malfoy frowns and reaches up to brush his hands through his hair. His eyes widen when his fingertips touch the delicate looking petals on his head. “Potter,” he whispers; his quiet tone sends chills down Harry’s spine. He sounds positively murderous.

“I—I’m sorry,” Harry mumbles.

“What the fuck, Potter!” Malfoy stomps his foot. “Did you seriously just put a fucking flower crown on my head?”

“I—I didn’t mean to. I don’t know what’s going on. That never happened before.”

“Ugh, I hate you! I knew you were trying to find a way to humiliate me.” Malfoy shrugs out of his robes and flings them over his head. “Don’t come anywhere near me ever again!”

Harry gapes at him, processing all the confusing emotions that seem to fight against each other in the pit of his stomach. It seems unfair to be blamed for this. It wasn’t his intention to humiliate Malfoy. Besides, if anyone wants this to go away, it’s Harry.

“Malfoy, wait,” he says, reaching into his bag. “Here, take this.” Part of him feels like he’s going to regret this; what if Malfoy doesn’t return it? But right now, it feels like the right thing to do.

“What is this?” Malfoy says, lowering his robes. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“It’s, um, it’s my Invisibility Cloak.”

“Your—” Malfoy’s mouth drops open. “Are you kidding me? Did you have this the whole time? Is that how you—” He presses his lips into a tight line. “I can’t believe you have an Invisibility Cloak. Do you have any idea how rare they are?”

Harry tries to keep his mouth from twitching as he drinks in the mixture of Malfoy’s irritation and excitement. “It’s a family heirloom.”

Malfoy can’t seem to tear his eyes away from it, his expression full of awe. “And you’re giving it to me? Just like that?”

“I’m lending it to you,” Harry rectifies. “Those, err, flowers have to disappear sooner or later, right? Until then, you can hide in your dorm.”

Malfoy still looks sceptical, but he takes the Cloak and examines it more closely.

“I really am sorry, Malfoy. I didn’t mean to, um, put those on you.”

Malfoy gives him a quick glance before he turns his attention back to the cloak. “Even though I appreciate this,” he lifts the cloak to his chest, “I still think you should stay away from me.”

“Malfoy, isolating yourself won’t do any good. I genuinely—”

“No, you don’t understand, Potter. My life is complicated enough as it is. I don’t need to add your drama to it.”

“Oh.” Well, if he puts it like that… “I—Maybe I’ve been too selfish,” Harry murmurs.

“You, being selfish,” Malfoy snorts. “Whatever the case may be, let’s not force something that’s clearly not in the cards.”

Harry says nothing and sits back down, suddenly feeling a bit queasy. He has been imposing himself on Malfoy, hasn’t he? That’s so weird. The second he realises he’s not wanted, he usually immediately backs away. He’s had enough experience with that after all. But all the experience in the world doesn’t seem to help when it comes to Malfoy; nothing makes sense and everything is a mess.

“Malfoy, I—” Harry blinks, turning this way and that until he realises Malfoy vanished and he’s talking to an empty room.

That night, sleep doesn’t find him. His mind is running in circles, alternating between utter confusion and self-chastisement at being such an idiot. Malfoy made it perfectly clear he doesn’t want anything to do with Harry, so why can’t he let it go? What is it about him that makes Harry want to tear his hair out? He’ll have to stop. He’ll have to accept all the irritation and weird aching in his chest, accept that there’s nothing he can do about it.

Unfortunately, it’s easier said than done. For some inexplicable reason, ignoring Malfoy feels so wrong. The worst part, however, are his friends, who seem to be noticing that something’s off. If only they would stop pestering him about it, constantly reminding him of how miserable he feels and ultimately driving him to shut himself up in his dorm. It’s ironic in a way; he told Malfoy not to isolate himself and now, that’s exactly what he’s doing. But it’s the only way he can think of to get by.

At least the other boys are sensible enough not to bring up the fact that their entire dorm is plastered with all sorts of colourful flowers. Neville is the only one who keeps commenting on it, but only because he’s fascinated by them. He tried to talk to Harry about them a few times, but Harry stayed silent. He’s avoiding talking to anyone, really.

It doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss hanging out with his friends; his stomach drops as the late May sun filters through the window, tickling his nose. He could be on the Quidditch pitch right now with the other boys.

He slowly sits up when he hears a soft knock on the door and Ron sticks his head in.

“Alright, mate?”

Harry just nods.

“There’s, err—” Ron scratches the back of his neck. “You have a visitor.”

Harry frowns, wondering why Ron sounds so awkward. He gets his answer when the door swings open, revealing blond hair—flower-free—and Slytherin robes.

“Malfoy,” Harry breathes, confusion washing over him yet again at the strange yearning that instantly unfurls in his chest. He watches Malfoy warily as he takes in the room, obviously shocked by its greenhouse-like state.

“Weasley, would you mind giving us a moment?” he says, his voice tight.

Ron hesitates and shoots Harry an uncertain look.

“It’s okay,” Harry says, trying to smile. He fails.

Malfoy waits until the door is closed behind him to reach into his robe pocket. “I came to return this,” he says, dropping Harry’s Invisibility Cloak on his bed.

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” Harry murmurs. He completely forgot about that.

“I would have given it to you earlier,” Malfoy drawls, “but you made yourself pretty scarce.”

Huh. So he noticed.

“Are you even eating anything?”

“What?”

“You look awful, Potter.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “And it’s been a while since I last saw you in the Great Hall.”

The yearning seems to intensify with every one of Malfoy’s words.

“You said I should leave you alone,” Harry says quietly, looking down at his hands.

“Merlin, Potter, yes, but I didn’t tell you to remove yourself from the castle completely. Why do you always have to go overboard?” He lets his arms fall back to his side and purses his lips. “May I sit down?”

Harry gulps. “Oh. Yeah, sure.” He grabs the duvet to make some room for Malfoy, his heart jumping as he feels the dip in the mattress as Malfoy sits down on the foot of the bed.

“You—” Malfoy looks exactly how Harry feels; uneasy and almost a bit nervous. “You’re not in here because of me, are you? Because that would be absolutely ridiculous.”

Harry bites his lip, unsure of what to say.

“But why?” Malfoy adds, as though Harry already answered his previous question.

Not knowing what else to do, Harry simply shrugs, his eyes glued to his hands.

“Okay look, whatever you‘re doing, you‘ve got to stop doing it.”

Harry peeks at him, curiosity piqued.

“You—You don’t have to avoid me anymore if it’s giving you that much trouble.”

A part of Harry wants to snap at Malfoy, at his patronising words. Only, they don’t sound patronising.

“I‘m not going to be blamed for the Saviour of the Wizarding World falling into some sort of depressive episode,” Malfoy says, his brows furrowed as though he’s trying to look irritated despite sounding almost worried.

“You don’t have to do me any favours, Malfoy,” Harry says, surprised at how much he’s stung by Malfoy’s words.

“I’m not,” Malfoy retorts. “I just don’t get it.” He shakes his head.

“If it’s any consolation, neither do I,” Harry sighs.

They sit in silence for a while and Harry watches Malfoy as he looks around the room.

“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” he murmurs.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Malfoy lets out a grunt before he gets up and turns to the door. “Like I said, Potter, you don’t have to avoid me anymore.” He pauses. “That doesn’t mean we’re friends, but… just stop moping around. It doesn’t suit you.”

Harry stays in his bed and stares at the ceiling for a long time after Malfoy is gone. He just can’t figure out what this weird feeling is that he can’t seem to shake. Maybe he never will. But he can take Malfoy at his word. And so he does.

It’s almost amusing how Malfoy stares at him, like a startled deer, when Harry sits down beside him the next day in Potions.

“No, you can’t sit with me, Potter.”

“Malfoy, you said—”

“You’re going to ruin all my work.”

Harry crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at him until Malfoy heaves a sigh, apparently accepting Harry’s stubbornness.

“Don’t touch anything,” he hisses.

Halfway into the class, it becomes apparent that Harry doesn’t need to touch anything to make Malfoy’s worst nightmares come true.

“Stop it,” he snaps as more and more flowers spread over their desk.

“I’m not doing it intentionally,” Harry snaps back.

“I swear to Merlin, if you put another flower crown on my head, I will single-handedly strangle you to death.”

Harry glowers at him but slowly moves away from the desk.

“And for Merlin’s sake, drink this.” Malfoy reaches into his bag and shoves a water bottle at him. “Your lips are all chapped.”

Harry stares at the bottle in complete bafflement. Of course he had no idea this was only the beginning. Malfoy keeps putting water bottles in his hands and sometimes even hands him sandwiches and little pieces of treacle tart. Every time Harry tries to ask him what the hell he’s doing, Malfoy simply shrugs, acting like he’s done nothing at all, and starts grumbling about the flowers Harry is involuntarily prompting to sprout everywhere he goes.

Well, two can play at that game, Harry thinks smugly as he finally spots the barn owl he’s been looking for all morning. He sniggers when it knocks over Malfoy’s pumpkin juice. Heart pounding up to his neck, he watches as Malfoy carefully opens the parcel and blinks at its content. His eyes immediately dart over to Harry, who presses his lips together to keep himself from smiling. He resists the urge to get up and flee the scene when Malfoy comes striding over, clutching his favourite chocolates as though they’re a highly dangerous weapon.

“What’s this?” he demands.

“Looks like chocolate to me,” Harry shrugs.

“Don’t play dumb, Potter.”

Harry tries to fight down the heat on his cheeks, knowing every single one of his friends, and probably half of the Great Hall, is staring at him. “Don’t make a big deal out of this, Malfoy.”

“I’m not. I just want to know—”

“You were being nice, so I’m trying to be nice, okay?” Harry snaps, unable to keep the exasperation out of his tone.

“Merlin, even when you’re friends you act weird,” Ron murmurs.

“We’re not friends,” Malfoy grumbles.

“You sure about that?” Ron says, raising an eyebrow.

“I—”

Harry quietly snorts. Malfoy looks like a fish on dry land.

“Hey, did you read my note?”

Malfoy huffs.

“So are you free later?”

“I have homework to do, Potter.”

“Don’t be a spoilsport.”

Malfoy turns with another huff and stalks back to the Slytherin table.

“Okay, see you later,” Harry calls after him.

“Blimey, Harry, you’ll owe us for that one.”

“For what exactly?” Harry frowns.

“Making us hang out with _him_.” Ron jerks his chin towards where Malfoy is sitting down again.

“I’m not making—”

“You’re friends with him now, which means he’ll hang out with you and that,” he points his fork at Harry, “means we will have to hang out with him as well.”

“Oh.” Harry can’t help but smile as Ron shudders and shoves more eggs into his mouth.

“Harry! God, I’m so sorry it’s taken so long.” Harry looks sideways, his smile dying on his lips when he sees Dean offering him the book in his hands. “It took my mum forever to find it, but here it is.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Harry says, taking the book.

“I hope it helps,” Dean says, giving him a sympathetic glance.

Harry tries to return it, but finds himself unable to. His fingers curl around the book, his stomach twisting itself into knots.

Not wanting to be surrounded by the whole school while he indulges himself in more ridiculousness, he hurries to the library and flings himself into the most secluded corner. He’s still not sure how a children’s book could hold any answers to his burning questions, but he’s completely out of options. His pulse instantly picks up as he examines the cover; there’s a young man with a crown and he’s surrounded by flowers. The mere sight makes Harry’s throat close up.

“Here we go,” he murmurs to himself and opens the book with slightly shaking fingers.

_Once upon a time, there was a handsome Prince, who was beloved by all his subjects. His parents found him a beautiful Princess to marry, and soon, on the Prince’s eighteenth birthday, they were to rule the kingdom together as husband and wife. The King and his Queen couldn’t have been happier and so was the Prince, or so it seemed, for everywhere he went, flowers sprang up around his feet._

_But, alas, it wasn’t long until fate took the Princess from her Prince. A vicious dragon carried the Princess off in her sleep, to hold her captive in its cave up in the mountains. Upon hearing this fearful news, the Prince fell terribly ill. The flowers weren’t just at his feet anymore, they were in his heart, his lungs, leaving him little time on this earth._

_And so, the Prince’s bravest Knight planned on setting out to bring back the Princess, for he believed she was the cure to the Prince’s illness. Before he went, the Prince summoned him to his chambers and the Knight was shocked to see the Prince’s face as pale as his hair. The Knight kneeled before the Prince’s bed and vowed to do everything in his power to save the Princess. The Prince smiled and asked the Knight to remove his helmet, so the Prince could see the face of his bravest Knight one more time. The Knight did as requested and was surprised to see tears streaming down the Prince’s face._

_“Do not fear,” said the Knight. “The Princess will be safe.”_

_The Prince nodded and reached out to take the Knight’s hand in his. Upon the touch, an armlet of flowers twined itself around the Knight’s wrist._

Harry gulps, trying to fight the sudden dizziness.

_“It shall protect you, for the Princess’ safety isn’t the only one that frightens me.”_

_And so, the Knight travelled three days and two nights until he finally found the dragon’s cave. The Knight fought fiercely and as by a miracle, he slayed the dragon and emerged unscathed. He returned the Princess to the castle and was acclaimed in all the land._

_Upon the Princess’ return, the Prince recovered, however it was impermanent, for he was still uncured._

_One night, after everyone had already gone to bed, the Princess snuck out of her chambers and went to the gardens, where she knew the dragon slaying Knight would be. You see, the Princess had heard about a rare flower with golden petals, that might save the Prince’s life._

_She found the Knight sitting on a bench, silently shedding tears. As she sat down beside him, the Knight leaned down and wept in the Princess’ lap. She did not chasten the Knight for his indiscretion, for it was then she understood what the true cure for the Prince’s illness was. So she led the dark haired Knight to the Prince’s chambers and locked the door behind him._

_Once again, the Knight fell to his knees before the Prince’s bed. He believed he was too late. The Prince had died in his sleep. Not wanting to live while his Prince was dead, the Knight drew his sword, intent on ending his own misery. He lowered his sword, however, to take the Prince’s hand in his and kiss it for the first and last time._

Harry stares at the last paragraph, feeling numb and empty. Oh god. Oh _god_. He put an armlet on Malfoy, even a fucking flower crown. But… it can’t mean… No. There’s no way. He’d know if he’d… right? He’d know. This is just a children’s story. A gruesome children’s story. They both die? How is this suitable for children?

It takes a moment for Harry to realise that this basically means he’s going to die as well. There’s no cure. And according to this story, he’s… he’s… with Malfoy! God, no!

Feeling himself panicking, he shuts the book and jumps to his feet. And Dean thought this would help? This is… No, it can’t be. He’ll find a way to fight this.

Mind reeling, Harry wobbles into the Charms classroom, unable to listen to anything Professor Flitwick is saying. All his classes pass in a blur while his mind spins out of control. It’s only after McGonagall finishes her lesson that Harry’s startled out of his numbness by a hesitant hand on his shoulder.

“Harry, are you okay?”

Harry blinks at Hermione without really seeing her.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says automatically.

“Harry, you don’t look so—”

“Potter, are you coming or what?”

Harry’s head whips around and he almost falls out of his seat.

“You’re the one who wanted to go flying,” Malfoy says, his tone bored.

Harry gapes at him, his heart thundering in his chest as though it’s ready to burst. Oh god. Is it true? Is Harry really—

“Less staring, more moving,” Malfoy snaps and grabs Harry by his elbow. He drags him down to the little hut where the school keeps spare brooms and begins rifling while Harry just stands there and questions everything that made sense in this world up until this point.

“These will do,” Malfoy says and thrusts one of the brooms into Harry’s hand. “You’ll never catch me,” he smirks, and before Harry knows what’s happening, he zooms off into the sky.

“Hey! I wasn’t ready!”

Harry rushes after him, finding it hard to keep his balance on the broom.

“What’s the matter, Potter? Having trouble keeping up?” Malfoy laughs. The sound is so unfamiliar, the sight of Malfoy’s mouth twisting upwards and his eyes shining brightly so surprising, it catches Harry completely off guard.

His grip on the broom slackens, his entire body trembling as he drinks in Malfoy’s slender figure glistening against the sun.

“Oh god,” Harry mutters, his stomach roaring in protest. “This can’t be happening.” It just can’t. He can’t feel what he’s feeling. For _Malfoy_.

“Potter, what are you doing? Potter!”

Harry’s eyes roll to the back of his head and he’s plunged into darkness, only to be brought back rather harshly by unimaginable pain shooting down his back.

“Potter, are you insane?” Malfoy sounds a bit breathless. “Merlin, are you hurt?”

Harry slowly opens his eyes and immediately wishes he hadn’t. His breath catches in his throat when he sees Malfoy leaning over him, blocking the sun and making it seem as though he’s wearing a halo. Now he’s really overdoing it.

“Can you sit up?” Malfoy cradles the back of his head while Harry tries to move and groans in pain. Just when he thought this couldn’t get any worse, he catches sight of the ground around him, of the gazillion roses he landed on. This, Harry decides, is the most embarrassing moment in his entire life. He’s literally lying on a bed of roses while Malfoy is holding him. This is fucking bollocks.

“I’m fine, Malfoy,” Harry grunts and tries to move away from him.

“I’m never going flying with you again,” Malfoy snaps and carefully helps Harry stand. “Madam Pomfrey will think I pushed you off your broom.”

“No, I’m not going to the hospital wing.”

“Don’t be daft, Potter.”

Harry wants to protest, but Malfoy snakes an arm around his hip and holds him so close, Harry instantly forgets what he was about to say. They slowly make their way to the castle while Harry inwardly pleads for this torture to end; every breath he takes is filled with Malfoy’s scent and it makes him so dizzy, he might pass out yet again.

Once they’re in the hospital wing, Malfoy unceremoniously dumps Harry onto one of the beds and mutters something about finding Madam Pomfrey. When she appears, however, Malfoy is nowhere to be seen, but it isn’t until dinner that Harry realises he’s not coming back. Of course he isn’t. Why would he?

Madam Pomfrey insists on Harry spending the night in the hospital wing, and after a visit by a very agitated Hermione and a grumbling Ron, Harry is more than ready to let his head fall onto the pillow and pass out.

His mind, it seems, has other plans.

Instead of having a restful, dreamless night, Harry finds himself on the Quidditch pitch again. And, of course, because his mind is a torturous little shit, it’s covered in roses.

“Fuck,” Harry bellows. “I know what you’re trying to tell me! There’s no need to rub it in!”

“Talking to yourself, Potter?”

Harry freezes.

“Or is there someone else here I should know about?”

Harry turns, slowly and full of dread, until he finds Malfoy standing right in front of him.

“Malfoy,” he chokes. “Damn it. This is so fucked up.”

Malfoy just looks at him, his lips gradually stretching into a grin.

“Ugh! Get out of my head,” Harry yells, pressing his hands against his temples.

“Huh. You’re more opinionated than usual.”

“God, why? Why is this happening?”

Malfoy snorts and, to Harry’s horror, steps closer. “Less talking, more kissing, Potter.”

Ummm… WHAT?

Malfoy gently nudges Harry’s hands away before his fingers dip into Harry’s hair and he presses their foreheads together. His eyes are closed and Harry finds himself mesmerised by the stark contrast of Malfoy’s rosy cheeks against his porcelain skin.

“I’ve been waiting for this all day,” Malfoy whispers and lets out a shuddering breath that pierces Harry to his core.

The now familiar aching in his chest grips him and it’s like he’s being pulled underwater. His eyes flick down to Malfoy’s mouth, to the curve of his cupid’s bow that seems to be taunting him.

_Kiss me if you dare. I know you want to._

Harry immediately wants to deny it; he doesn’t want to, not in a million years, but his mind unhelpfully starts murmuring at him, asking him if he ever uttered a more blatant lie.

Fuck!

Harry shudders when Malfoy lets out another breath and gently tugs at his hair.

God, he wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him so badly.

With his heart thundering in his chest, Harry wraps his arms around Malfoy, pressing one hand against the small of his back, the other between his shoulder blades, and raises his chin until he finally, _finally_ , feels Malfoy’s lips on his.

“Hmmmmm.” Malfoy pulls him even closer and attacks him with his glorious scent.

“Oh god,” Harry groans as he brushes his tongue against Malfoy’s, feeling like he’s going to explode. The gentle strokes, the unfamiliar taste—nothing has ever felt so good.

Even the fact that he’s kissing _Draco Malfoy_ is drowned out by the fireworks of tumultuous emotions inside of him. He’d almost be able to forget his own name with the way Malfoy is sighing into his mouth and pressing their bodies together as though Harry is vital to his survival. The funny thing is, it doesn’t feel weird. Not as much as he thought it would anyway. On the contrary; it’s like somewhere in the universe, something clicked together, finally making sense because he’s holding Malfoy in his arms. He can feel it in his gut. He wonders if Malfoy is feeling it, too. Well, he seems to be feeling _something_ , if the eager brush of his tongue and the tight grip on Harry’s hair is anything to go by.

“Merlin, I could do this all day,” Malfoy whispers against Harry’s mouth, unleashing something in Harry he had no idea was residing inside him. He momentarily wonders if he should be worried about that, but, he decides, if you can’t indulge yourself in dreams, can you ever?

So he slowly leans backwards, pulling Malfoy down with him, until he’s lying on his back with Malfoy straddling him. Dear god.

Malfoy gazes at him with hooded lids and brushes a finger over his cheek. “Ugh, can you stop being so handsome? I couldn’t concentrate on my homework at all tonight.”

Harry’s eyes widen, thinking his subconscious might be overdoing it a little. “You’re one to talk,” he snorts, marvelling at the feel of Malfoy’s hair against his fingertips. “I never noticed how pretty your eyes are,” he murmurs, only feeling a little embarrassed. This isn’t really Malfoy he’s talking to. It’s fine.

Malfoy drags his teeth across his lower lip, looking at Harry as though he can see everything right down to his soul; maybe he can. Maybe that’s why Harry doesn’t need to say anything and there still seems to be this unspoken understanding between them that they want each other and right now, in this moment, that’s absolutely fine.

So Harry tries to let go of his remaining apprehension as Malfoy leans down and kisses him again, gently at first, lips softly brushing against each other, before his mouth moves with more urgency and he pins Harry down with his full body weight. Harry’s hands move without him noticing, up Malfoy’s back, into his hair. He can smell the roses they’re lying on, fresh and sweet and full of promise. Something about it makes Harry’s heart ache and he’s gripped by the sudden urge to let Malfoy know. Malfoy needs to know. And maybe Harry needs to hear himself say it as well.

“Malfoy,” he breathes, chuckling when Malfoy doesn’t stop kissing him, even though Harry’s nudging him to pull away. “Malfoy.” He feels his features twisting into a more serious expression, his heart pounding violently as Malfoy gazes at him in contentment. “Malfoy, I think—I think I might be falling in love with you. Or maybe… I already have.”

To Harry’s astonishment, Malfoy doesn’t seem surprised. His lips simply stretch into a smile, a genuine one, and he leans down once more to claim Harry’s mouth, his entire existence.

Dreams, Harry learns in this moment, are truly the universe’s gift to humanity. Regretfully, he also learns that dreams can’t last forever. Just as Malfoy brushes his fingers against Harry’s neck, everything becomes blurry and no matter how hard Harry squints, everything still seems out of focus. Until it isn’t, and everything is dipped into black.

Harry blinks, his mind foggy and disoriented. Shit. Why couldn’t the dream have lasted a little longer? Now, he’s utterly confused, kind of embarrassed and horny. Great. He screws up his eyes and tries to summon the image of Malfoy smiling at him. Why didn’t he say anything? Why did he just smile? Is that a good thing?

Internally grumbling, Harry reminds himself that this Malfoy wasn’t real. Even if he had said something in return, it wouldn’t have meant anything. Still, it might have been nice to hear him say it.

“Fuck, I must be losing the plot,” Harry mutters to himself, turns on his side and secretly wishes he’d dream of red roses and blond hair again.  
  


* * *

   
The full impact of his dream and the gigantic revelation it had brought in its wake hits Harry the next morning as he’s getting ready for breakfast. He’s in love with Draco Malfoy. He’s in love with Draco Malfoy and he wants to kiss him and… do some other things. Potentially. Holy shit. In the light of day, this notion seems absolutely absurd. Even more so when Harry gazes over at the Slytherin table, ignoring his porridge, and stares at Malfoy. How did this even happen? Without him noticing?

By the time of his last two lessons of the day, Harry is in full panic mode. What the fuck is he supposed to do now? He enters the Potions classroom, hating his past self for partnering up with Malfoy; everyone else is already at their desks and there’s only one seat left. Of course. Of fucking course.

He peeks sideways, frowning at Malfoy, who’s frantically scribbling something on a piece of parchment. It’s his homework, Harry realises.

_“I couldn’t concentrate on my homework at all tonight.”_

Harry gulps, his scalp prickling uncomfortably. It’s just a coincidence. Surely, it’s a coincidence. But… when has Malfoy ever had to do his homework right before class? Oh god. But it was just a dream.

Harry shakes his head, trying to calm down.

“Seems a bit unlike you,” he murmurs, jerking his chin towards Malfoy’s parchment.

“I had,” Malfoy clears his throat, “other things to do last night.”

Oh god, he doesn’t mean—No, surely he doesn’t mean _that_.

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

Malfoy snorts as though he’s trying to say ‘As if I’d tell _you_ ’.

Harry finds himself unable to look at Malfoy all throughout the lesson. He stares at his hands in his lap instead, which doesn’t prove to be very helpful either, especially when a sea of pink-coloured peonies appear by his feet.

“Still no cure, huh?”

Oh god, Malfoy noticed them. Shit.

“And here I thought you could make yourself useful for a change.”

“You told me, repeatedly, not to touch anything,” Harry grumbles.

“Well, you could have at least fetched the ingredients.” Malfoy lets out an exasperated sigh. “But I guess you would have cocked that up as well. It’s best you don’t interfere with my brilliance.”

“Brilliance my arse.”

“Even you can’t deny I’m the best in this class,” Malfoy drawls, his eyes pointedly darting over to Hermione.

“Yeah, let me guess, you could do this all day.”

As soon as the words are out, Harry freezes. He watches Malfoy, who has gone suspiciously still, his hand hovering over the cauldron.

“What did you just say?”

They stare at each other in horror as they simultaneously seem to realise the impossible has happened. The dream was real. Well, not real, but—Oh god, actually, Harry has no fucking idea what’s going on.

“No,” Malfoy breathes, dread ringing loudly in his voice. “This can’t be happening.”

The irony, Harry thinks. That’s what he’s been telling himself over and over again for weeks. And while this is absolutely horrifying and embarrassing, Harry immediately wonders why Malfoy is so freaked out. He was the one who made the first move; he was the one who was more than eager to kiss Harry. He even made it sound like it wasn’t the first time. So what’s his problem? It’s only okay if it’s a fantasy?

“Malfoy,” Harry starts, without even knowing what he wants to say.

“No,” Malfoy says, backing away. “Don’t you dare come anywhere near me.”

Harry has never seen Malfoy move so fast. Without a backwards glance, he storms out of the classroom, his hurried footsteps echoing off the walls.

Harry sags in his seat, cursing under his breath at the aching in his chest. Wrapping his head around the idea of being in love with Malfoy is one thing; being openly rejected by him, stared at as though he’s some kind of abomination… that just takes the biscuit. How can he kiss Harry, act like he _wants_ to kiss him, be near him, and then just run off like that?

Gripped by blind rage, Harry jumps out of his seat, intent on hunting Malfoy down to confront him. Before he can take even one step, however, he feels a strange pang in his chest, rippling through him like the Cruciatus curse. He faintly registers the murmurs of the other students as he doubles over and starts coughing and coughing, until it feels like his throat is being ripped open. And then, when he finally feels like he’s completely empty inside and every single muscle in his body is aching, he sees it. He sees the single black tulip that’s lying on the floor.

“Oh Harry,” he hears Hermione whisper. He didn’t even notice she was standing beside him.

“That is very unfortunate,” Slughorn mutters, examining the flower. He gives Harry a peculiar look before his gaze wanders over to the door. Oh god, he knows. Hermione probably does, too.

Harry plops down on his chair, staring at the floor without really seeing it. From what Slughorn said and what Harry remembers from Dean’s book, this won’t end well.

Is the universe out to get him or something? Even falling in love puts Harry in mortal danger. Happiness, it turns out, really isn’t meant for him.

“Someone get Malfoy back in here,” Slughorn booms.

“No, don’t,” Harry says hastily. “Please, don’t.”

“Harry, my boy, we have to—Merlin’s beard!”

Harry drops to his knees as a new coughing fit seizes him. It feels worse than before. He can’t breathe. He can’t think. He can’t see anything but dreadful, foreboding darkness.  
  


* * *

   
“Harry? Harry, can you hear me?”

“Ugh, what’s going on?” Harry groans without opening his eyes. Everything hurts.

“Oh, thank goodness!” He feels Hermione’s hand on his forehead.

He blinks open his eyes, hissing at the harsh sunlight.

“I thought—I thought—”

Harry turns to Hermione, who’s sitting on the edge of the bed. Her quiet sobs fill the entire hospital wing.

“What happened?” Harry asks and immediately flinches. It feels like someone shoved nails down his throat.

“You fainted,” Hermione says. “After you coughed up more tulips. Black tulips.” She says the last part as though it should mean something to him.

He raises an eyebrow at her and she seems to understand. She reaches for her bag and pulls out a book labeled ‘Botanical Bliss’. Harry snorts under his breath.

“Tulips symbolise strong affection and love,” Hermione begins. “They’re similar to roses in that way, but with tulips, it’s more about an emotional connection.”

Harry stares at her, feeling like someone slapped him across the face. He suspected Hermione knew, but having it laid out like that…

“Now, black tulips usually mean power and strength,” she continues. “But in your particular case, we think it means something else.”

“We?” Harry echoes, feeling the urge to smother himself with his pillow.

“Professor Slughorn and I,” Hermione says. “We think it—”

“It’s okay,” Harry says, raising his right hand. “I think I know what it means.”

Hermione seems to be biting the inside of her cheek as though she’s trying to decide if she should keep her mouth shut or not. “How did this happen, Harry?” Or not, apparently.

“I have no idea,” Harry sighs. “Believe me, I was just as shocked.”

“When Malfoy ran off, it almost seemed like—”

They both jump as the door to the hospital wing bursts open, revealing three very angry looking figures.

“Ron! What are you doing?” Hermione demands.

He and Dean come striding in, dragging a red-faced Malfoy between them.

“We won’t let him get away with this,” Ron says. “It’s time he stopped being a coward.”

“Who are you calling a coward, Weasley?” Malfoy spits.

“We all know what’s going on, Malfoy. You can drop the act,” Dean says.

Harry’s eyes flicker between the three of them while his stomach drops and churns uncomfortably.

“First things first.” Dean rummages inside his bag. “Read this.” He shoves a book at Malfoy; a book Harry immediately recognises. The story of the Prince and the Knight. Oh god.

Malfoy looks at it, his expression turning sour. “A children’s book? Really? You want me to—” He clamps his mouth shut and slowly opens the book when Dean gives him a murderous glance.

Harry watches Malfoy unblinkingly as he begins to read, turns page after page and becomes more rigid with every passing second.

“This is—” Malfoy shakes his head. “What the hell is this? Are you suggesting it’s my fault that Potter’s going to die?” He scowls at the floor, his cheeks burning in scarlet; he probably regrets saying anything at all.

“Wait, what? What are you—” Dean wrenches the book out of Malfoy hands. He frowns as he examines it. “Damn it! There’s a page missing.”

“Really?” Harry says, his heart inadvertently beating faster.

“Ugh! I’ll owl my mum and ask her to look for it. This,” he holds up the book, “has a very different ending.”

“Oh.” Harry bites his lip and tries not to look at Malfoy. He fails.

“Maybe, um,” Hermione clears her throat. “Maybe we should give them a moment.” She ushers Ron out of the hospital wing, who’s protesting but lets Hermione push him regardless, while Dean follows them quietly.

“So,” Harry says, just to fill the silence, “some story Dean’s got there, huh?” His mouth instantly goes dry when Malfoy looks at him with a stony expression.

“How long do you think you have?” he murmurs.

This takes Harry aback, the way Malfoy chose to phrase it, as though it’s a given Harry isn’t going to survive this. Well… maybe he won’t.

“I don’t know,” he says, tugging at the duvet. “It was painful,” he clasps his throat, “coughing up those flowers. I guess the next time it happens, I might choke to death.”

He peeks at Malfoy, who’s looking at Harry as though he just summoned a Boggart and Malfoy is forced to face his worst fear.

They both stay silent for a while, even though Harry wishes Malfoy would say something. Anything.

“I’m only doing this to help you, Potter,” he finally grumbles. Harry frowns and watches him as he locks the door with a spell.

He’s tempted to point out that his threatening tone and the fact that he just locked the two of them in the hospital wing isn’t exactly inspiring confidence, but he says nothing when Malfoy suddenly turns around and marches right up to him.

“How—” Harry swallows. “How is locking me in here going to help me?”

“It’s not about locking you in here. It’s about,” Malfoy swallows as well, which makes Harry even more nervous, “privacy.”

“Oh.” Harry freezes when Malfoy moves. His instincts tell him to back away, but, technically, what Malfoy is doing isn’t threatening; he’s cupping Harry’s cheeks, staring at him with a strange glimmer in his eyes as though he’s silently trying to ask Harry… something. Even if he had said it out loud, Harry isn’t sure he would have been able to answer. It feels like his entire body is on fire, the invisible flames devouring him mercilessly. Malfoy’s pale eyes bore into his, making him shudder, and before he knows what he’s doing, he grabs Malfoy’s elbow to steady himself.

“I’m only doing this to help you,” Malfoy repeats; it almost sounds like he’s saying it to himself, like a mantra.

“Uh-huh,” Harry says, unable to focus on anything other than Malfoy’s eyes. His breath catches when Malfoy slightly leans forward as though he’s going to kiss Harry. Oh. _Oh._

His grip on Malfoy’s elbow tightens, panic bubbling up inside him. Malfoy is going to kiss him. For real this time.

“Potter?”

Harry gulps, overwhelmed by the prickling on his scalp and the vehemence of his heartbeat.

“Potter, this is what you want, right? This is—”

Before Harry knows what he’s doing, he wraps his hand around Malfoy’s neck and pulls him forward. Malfoy’s lips feel exactly like he remembers, warm, soft and weirdly comforting. Once again, it feels like something clicked into place, something Harry hadn’t been able to put his finger on.

“Oh god.” Without fully realising what he’s doing, he pulls Malfoy closer, who stumbles but quickly catches himself. Harry feels him move and gasps when he’s suddenly on the bed with Harry, straddling him. Maybe it’s a good thing Malfoy locked the door after all.

Much like in his dream, Malfoy pins him down and kisses him like Harry is the air he needs to breathe. He can definitely relate. It feels like his body _needs_ to be this close to Malfoy. Maybe he’s imagining it, but it seems like he feels less sore the longer they kiss and it’s like a huge weight has been lifted off his chest. It leaves Harry awestruck, along with the feeling of Malfoy’s muscles moving beneath his fingers and his now familiar taste that always seems to leave Harry wanting more.

“You know,” he says, catching his breath, “not that I’m complaining, but how exactly is this going to help me?”

Malfoy looks at him, his expression torn, as though he’s about to make the hardest decision of his life. “I lied before,” he whispers.

“About what?” Harry asks, bursting with anticipation.

“I—I know the story of the Prince and the Knight.”

Oh. That’s… not what Harry was expecting.

“And?”

“And,” Malfoy bites his lip. “I know how it ends. I know—I know what will cure you.”

“You do?” Harry stares at him. “What—What is it?”

“Something I never would have even considered,” Malfoy snorts and shakes his head. “Me, apparently.”

“You.” Harry frowns.

“Yes.” Malfoy takes Harry’s hand and stares at it like he’s seeing it for the first time. “Because, apparently, you love me.”

Harry freezes as something icy crawls down his spine. Oh god, of course. How could he have forgotten? How the fuck could he have forgotten? He told Malfoy. He actually told him.

“For fuck’s sake,” Harry growls and tries to put his hand over his eyes. Malfoy doesn’t let him.

“When I realised it wasn’t just a dream, I was so relieved I hadn’t said it back,” Malfoy murmurs. “I would have been too embarrassed.”

It takes Harry a moment to fully understand Malfoy’s words, or at least try to interpret them correctly. Is he saying he loves Harry as well?

“Do you—Do you want to see?” Malfoy asks, and Harry thinks he’s never seen anything more charming than the blush on his cheeks.

“Do I want to see what?”

“My copy of ‘The Prince and the Knight’. I brought it here after I went home for the holidays.”

“Oh. Sure,” Harry mumbles.

“It’s in my dorm.” Malfoy gives him a meaningful glance and Harry hopes he isn’t reading the situation wrong and Malfoy is indeed offering more than just a bit of story time.

“Okay.”

The way to the dungeons seems endless and the stares of the Slytherins as Harry enters their common room are almost unbearable, but when he’s finally in Malfoy’s dorm, door locked behind them, Harry finally relaxes. Kind of ironic, he thinks. Just a few months ago, being in Malfoy’s dorm would have had the opposite effect.

“That’s my bed,” Malfoy says in an uncharacteristically abashed tone and points at the bed by the window.

Harry nods, hating the awkwardness between them. Mustering up all his courage, he walks over to Malfoy and takes his hand. Malfoy blinks at him, obviously surprised by Harry’s boldness.

“Is—Is this okay? I mean, err, is it okay if I—”

“Merlin, Potter, what are you, twelve?” The ghost of a smile plays around Malfoy’s lips and Harry can’t help but smile himself. “Here.” Malfoy grabs the book on his nightstand with his free hand and gestures for Harry to sit down on his bed.

“Wait, before I read it,” Harry says and takes the book from Malfoy’s lap. “You—you said you were glad you didn’t say it back.” He hesitates, hoping he’s not making a complete fool of himself. “But, um—”

Malfoy sighs. “Potter.” He squeezes his hand. “Only you can be such a massive dolt.”

“Hey, I—Mmmpf.“

Malfoy shuts him up with a kiss. But as much as Harry enjoys this kind of nonverbal communication, he needs to know for sure.

“So, err, you—you do? Too?”

Malfoy snorts. “Read the story, Potter. Then you’ll know.”

“Okay.”

“Merlin, stop smiling like that. You look delirious.”

“Okay.” But Harry can’t stop smiling. He’s pretty sure his face is going to hurt soon, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care at all.

He quickly kisses Malfoy’s hand, not letting go of it as he opens the book to finally read the real ending of the story, which only makes him smile even more.

_Once again, the Knight fell to his knees before the Prince’s bed. He believed he was too late. The Prince had died in his sleep. Not wanting to live while his Prince was dead, the Knight drew his sword, intent on ending his own misery. He lowered his sword, however, to take the Prince’s hand in his and kiss it for the first and last time._

_“My Prince. From the day I was born, I belonged to you. And yet, you owned more than you beheld. You owned my body and my soul. I gave you my heart and it shall forever be yours.”_

_To the Knight’s surprise, the hand he had just kissed moved and was gently placed on his cheek._

_“My Knight. One cannot survive without his heart. Perhaps that is why we are both still here, for I have yours and you have mine.”_

_Letting his sword clatter to the floor, the Knight embraced the Prince and cured him with a kiss that only he was meant to give._

_And so, the Princess returned to her own kingdom, intent on finding just as true a love as the Prince’s and the Knight’s, for they lived happily ever after without any more frights._

**Author's Note:**

> This story/art is part of an anonymous fest: drizzle 2019. Reveals will be in mid-october. Please do not repost anywhere else without explicit permission from the original creator.
> 
> Here's some [amazing art](https://parkkate.tumblr.com/post/189795582209/please-feast-your-eyes-on-the-gorgeousness-that-is) to go with the fic :)


End file.
